A Good Day
by Holli-chan
Summary: "It was the dead look in Matt's eyes when he looked up at Mello that made him freeze in his tracks. It was his words that shattered Mello's world..."


**A/N: I wrote this a while back for a contest on MangaBullet… If you're curious about the contest itself, Atreyl has an entry on her profile, too - it's better than mine. I only had it on the contest forum, so I figured I should write it somewhere where you guys could read it too. So here it is. Yay.**

**Disclaimer: Still don't own Death Note, or anything else in here that looks remotely copyrighted.

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Mello was someone that was often called fearless. This observation was reasonable, he supposed, by the way people saw him acting. Causing fights with much older children at a young age, willingly running into dangerous situations, leaving out on his own at a young age, joining the mafia at 16 or so, blowing himself up so he didn't have to go to jail, fighting Kira… all of these things screamed fearless to many people who observed the young man. These observations and conclusions were reasonable, as said before, but not accurate.

He wasn't fearless. Far from it. Mello himself had once thought himself to be, or at least thought himself to be exceptionally brave. Bold. Maybe even heroic, though he was more of an anti-hero than anything else. All the same, he saw himself as a figure of great, fierce bravery. Perhaps even nearly invincible, as many young men seem to. He didn't feel fear like most people, and when he did, he nearly always managed to fight and claw his way through it without struggle. He, and most everyone around him, saw him as fearless.

Mello was proved wrong one day when something happened. It wasn't something he had ever considered a threat, though by every statistic he really should have seen it coming far before. He had always joked about it, after all - he should have thought of it seriously as well, shouldn't he have? But then, he had always seen himself as invincible. That he could defeat any foe that came to him. He certainly didn't think it, or anything else, could truly happen to him or anyone he cared about. Certainly not that day.

That day was suppose to be a good day. It was a Wednesday, which was a good day for Mello because it was his unofficial day off, though he always ended up contradicting himself and working on the Kira case anyway if nobody cared to pull him away from it. But that day, he had decided that morning, was going to be different. He planned on going on a nice drive on his motorcycle, maybe go to the beach and read a book or just relax and watch the nearly cloudless sky above him, enjoy the sunny weather. He was going to go get some chocolate ice cream from the Coldstone in the city, maybe a Starbucks coffee to go with it.

And a frappichino for Matt. Those caramel ones Mello knew he liked, even if he denied it since he had been convinced he hated sweet things before being introduced to it. Yes, he and his best friend were going to have a good day just as soon as the redhead got back from his doctor's appointment, and they were going to party like it was no tomorrow. Maybe have some really hot sex afterward, maybe just cuddle. It could be Matt's decision - Mello was in a good mood for his good day, so it didn't matter to him.

In this mood Mello scampered through the apartment, cleaning things up for his Good Day. Dusted off the top of the TV. Tossed the various scattered Monster cans and chocolate bar wrappers into the trash cans. Cleared the table, shoved the dishes into the sink to clean later, because there would be no dish-washing on his Good Day. Turned on the radio to a nice Neon Trees song, danced along as he opened the windows, letting in the sunlight. Matt didn't like the sunlight, sure, but it was Mello's Good Day and Matt could just deal with it. Emptied the disgustingly full ash tray, and wondered if maybe Matt would stop smoking for his Good Day, but he knew he wouldn't push the issue because Mello never pushed that issue. Shoved Matt's video games into the cabinet space they were supposed to be in. Made things tidy, just like Mello liked it but never had time to make it.

At six o'clock, Mello had just finished putting away the books scattered on the desk when the door flew open. The blonde looked up in surprise and excitement, a rare dashing smile appearing on his scarred face, only to have his brightened blue eyes fall upon a Matt he hadn't expected to see.

This Matt wasn't the boy that usually came home to him. The redhead in the door had slumped shoulders, no cigarette hanging from the corner of his lips, no puppy-like excitement dancing through his expressive green eyes. He was Matt, but he looked as if he had been dulled, the glowing atmosphere that constantly followed him normally dissipated, no trace of it lingering on the man in the doorway. The Matt-ness was gone.

Mello's dashing smile vanished, replaced by a puzzled, worried expression that scrunched his pale, almost-unnoticeable eyebrows together. "Matt?" Mello inquired, immediately dropping his neatly-stacked pile of books rather messily onto the table and taking a few cautious steps forward.

It was the dead look in Matt's eyes when he looked up at Mello that made him freeze in his tracks. It was his words that shattered Mello's world.

"Mello, I've got cancer."

And with those four words, Mello's Good Day dissipated along with any illusion that Mello was fearless. Those words destroyed any wishful spirit Mello might have clung to that day. All at once, it dawned on Mello that he was not fearless, he was not invincible. At that moment, he was more fragile than anyone. Watching Matt stare at him, waiting for judgment with those woeful green eyes, he felt as if he might break at any moment. Because Matt was his fear. He couldn't live without that boy.

No words were spoken at first. Mello simply stumbled backwards and sat on the coffee table, not bothering to even spare a glance at the unlit candle he knocked to the floor in the process. Matt's reaction was immediate - he strode forward and embraced him, his arms strong and steady around him, pulling him into his chest. Mello was too shocked to cry, though for the first time in a long time he felt that he needed to. Instead, he clung to his other need - Matt's comforting embrace.

_This is all wrong,_ Mello thought, bewildered as he buried his face in Matt's shoulder, clinging to him limply. _I should be the one comforting him. He's the one with the cancer._

"Tell me you're lying to me, Matty… tell me that for once, you're lying to me…" Mello choked out painfully, letting out an involuntary shudder. Because surely this was a dream. Surely this was just some sort of sick joke, and they would both laugh over it later, and maybe have a silly little slap fight over it but they wouldn't really fight, because this was his Good Day. This was Mello's Good Day… nothing bad happened to Mello. Not on his good days.

"Oh god, Mells…" Matt whispered, stroking Mello's hair with shaking hands. "I wish I was… god, I wish I was…"

Mello felt like a child as Matt held him, his voice growing quieter but more desperate as he pulled away just slightly to look up at Matt. Matt and his dulled eyes. "But you're so young… so young, Matt…" Mello whispered. The words tasted like venom in his mouth; his throat had gone so dry.

"I know," Matt whispered, his voice sounding void of emotion. As if he were still in shock. Mello supposed he must be. "The doctor said he was surprised too, but… it can develop early, and I've been smoking for so long… I guess…" _Lung cancer, then._

"But you're so… you're…" Mello could find no more words to contradict the idea of Matt having cancer. It made sense to him, because he was a rational young man, and the normally thinking part of him knew that it was only obvious that a chain smoker like Matt would get lung cancer. The statistics were all there. And yet there was still a part of him who thought it couldn't be possible. That…

"But you're… you're mine," Mello whispered quietly, his voice soft and desperate. When Matt made no reply, Mello found himself bursting into wild, uncontrollable sobs, feeling very much like a tiny child all over again. How long had it been since he had last cried? How long since he was truly so afraid that the sobs came without control, heart pounding so hard in his chest that he couldn't even think straight? How long since he encountered something frightening that he could not face off against?

Mello wasn't sure how long he sat there, crying and clinging and not quite thinking. He wasn't sure how long it was before the sobbing subsided and he was left as nothing more than a numb carcass of himself, feeling almost dead in Matt's arms. He wasn't sure how long it was before Mello got a hold of his bearings and pulled away from his lover, stumbled to the couch and sat down. He's not sure how long he was there, but now that he's away from Matt, it seems like he wants it to have been much longer.

Matt looks up at him, his dulled green eyes watching him blankly. As if he's not quite sure what Mello will do with him now. And Mello doesn't have to be a mind reader to know that Matt is scared that he'll be mad at him. He doesn't need to know him for so long to know that Matt is afraid. Afraid of losing Mello; afraid of leaving him behind. Does he know I'm just as scared? He doubts that he does; Mello's face has become a stony mask, hiding all the emotion there in vain, as if the sobbing mess he had been moments before had never happened.

Slowly, Mello finds his brain coming to at least half it's working speed again. Just enough for it to process what he's been told. Cancer. Lung cancer. Lots of people died from lung cancer, too many people, good people. People like Matt. He thought, slowly, of all the things he had heard about the disease. About the treatment for it, all the different ones, thought of the people he'd seen with cancer. Their lost eyes, their fits of coughing, their bed-ridden entities, their bald heads. Chemo.

"When are you going to start?" Mello whispered. His voice is hoarse even to his own ears; his throat is too dry. Does Matt see what he's doing to him?

He doubts it, because Matt's eyes look so lost. "What do you mean?" he whispers, slowly getting to his feet. He's not showing the symptoms quite yet, Mello can see that, but his eyes… his eyes show nothing but confusion. He's stunned. Mello is too, but his mind is working again. The part of his mind that just thinks and doesn't feel, that's the part that works, and it's the part who bluntly replies, "The chemotherapy."

This is when the recognition comes onto Matt's face. This is when green eyes flash with emotion for the first time since he's come into the room, when the dullness, if only for a moment, ceases to reveal a worried, panic-stricken expression. This is also when the worry in Mello's heart turns to its next level, a more extreme one. Slowly, as if approaching something very dangerous and yet very valuable and fragile, Matt lowers himself onto the couch beside Mello. The blonde has to fight from flinching away when Matt lays his hand on his shoulder and whispers the next altering words, quiet and gentle, as if he's talking to a child.

"I'm not getting the chemo, Mello."

Mello flinches away now, the resistance against said reaction shattering in that instant along with any resolve to keep back his emotions. Without a thought on the matter Mello's hands flies up, slapping Matt across the face. He's hit Matt before, this is nothing new, and yet this slap was thought out, not completely fueled by blind anger. This one stings, because Mello means it, and no apology is spewed afterwards.

Matt stares, stunned once again but also emotionally stung, as Mello growls, "No."

The redhead stares, uncomprehending of Mello's words for a moment, his hand moving in late-reaction to rest on his cheek. His skin stings a little from the slap, but he's more hurt emotionally than physically. Once he has his bearings again, the gentle voice is back, the voice that again reminds Mello of a mother telling a child of bad news. But instead of telling him his dog just died, he tells him, "Mello, I can't do it. There's no point. I brought the cancer upon myself anyway, and you and I both know that by the time these months are over…" He pauses, wavering on the words. He doesn't have to complete the sentence - Mello already knows - but Matt feels the need to complete the statement anyway, if only to convince himself. "Well, if I survive the months it will take for the cancer to kill me, I won't have any reason for living anyway. Not with the way things are going now."

It's Mello's turn to stare. "I'm not going to die, Matt," he whispers, because he knows exactly what Matt is talking about and there's no use arguing with him on the point that he should full well live without him even if he were to die. There's no use, because Mello has had the conversation a million times, and when Mello did leave him, Matt almost killed himself; the argument is moot.

Matt looks away. "But even so." The statement isn't a prelude - nothing comes after it. Mello stares at him, still uncomprehending, still refusing to believe what Matt is suggesting. Giving up so easily… when he only stares at Matt, he sighs and follows up with his real fear. "You won't love me if I go through chemo, Mel. I'll be sick all the time. I'll be constantly vomiting and crying. I'll have to go to the hospital constantly, and you know you won't visit me. I'll be ugly, and bald. You won't admit it, but you won't be able to handle that."

Mello shrinks back, as if physically slapped. "I would," he snaps immediately. But in his head, he wonders if he can. He wonders if he would be able to survive seeing Matt like that. He wonders if Matt is right. Maybe he wouldn't be able to stand it. He wonders if, if he tries, he would go back to drugs or drinking or some other extreme to get out of it. Do something stupid to get out of the pain. End up hurting Matt no matter what he did.

But no. That can't be. He can't think that way. "Matt, I'll love you no matter what," he whispers, his voice cold and disbelieving. Matt only shrugs, averting his eyes.

"Then you can love me without the chemo."

Mello stares as he walks away, not believing his eyes until the bedroom door slams and the almost silent (but not quite) sobs echo from behind the walls. And he wonders why he can't bring himself to get up and comfort him.

Suddenly it's the next day. Mello can't remember why or how - he knows he must have fallen asleep on the couch, because that's where he is now, but he doesn't remember when or what he did before then. He only remembers staring at the door, listening to Matt sob and wondering why he was so damn helpless.

Would I still love you if you had the chemo? Would I still love you if you were so weak?

Slowly, Mello gets to his feet. He doesn't hear Matt as he usually does. Usually Matt is in the kitchen, making chocolate chip pancakes or some other breakfast for Mello in the morning even though, as of late, Matt hadn't been eating a lot. Now that Mello knows why, he wishes he would have forced him to eat more. Mello doesn't question it, doesn't ask why Matt hasn't awoken, not even to himself. He just stumbles into the bathroom, turns on the light.

He doesn't know when it clicks or why. But staring at himself in the mirror, all long hair and perfect body, he realizes how lucky he is. How lucky, lucky, lucky he is to be alive. And realizing this, his hand goes to trace the scar on his face, and he thinks _will you still love Matt if he's not pretty? Are you pretty?_

Mello finds that he doesn't know a lot of things today, but at that moment he knows.  
And, as Mello does best, the blonde burst into action. Immediately, palm connects with mirror, smashing a good part of it. Blood smears across the reflective surface and pain sears through his hand, up his arm, but Mello ignores this, keeping his hand pressed to the mirror for support. So weak.

Without thinking completely his hand goes for the razor, the one that Matt uses to shave. Mello doesn't shave - he doesn't get facial hair - but he knows how to use it well enough. And, without quite comprehending what he's doing, Mello brings the razor to his head… and pauses.

This was his hair. The hair he grew out from when he was a little kid. The hair that defined him. The hair that made him look sexier. The hair that made him Mello.

But not why Matt loved him.

Narrowing icy blue eyes Mello glares at the mirror, as if daring it to challenge him as he shaves off his hair. Not all the way, but into a buzz-cut, because he can't bring himself to go completely bald. He can't explain the fury he feels as he glares at the mirror, glares at himself, until all of his blonde locks are falling off his head, down his face, tickling his ears and neck. Coating the floor with clumps of gold in the dim florescent light of the bathroom. He doesn't see it until all of the hair is gone and he can see himself, Mello, without the hair. He can't believe what he sees, not quite. He hadn't had short hair since he was about six years old, and yet there it was, staring him in the face: a buzz cut. And suddenly he couldn't be mistaken for a girl anymore. And suddenly there was nothing hiding that hideous scar that crossed his face, part of his head, his neck, his shoulder. Suddenly there was just him, just Mello, all wide blue eyes; blue eyes that now stared in bewilderment, stunned at his own actions.

And yet.

Mello turned around, slowly. Just as slowly brushed the hair from his neck, his shoulders, his back. Leaves it in clumps on the floor - he'll clean it some other time, but not now. Now he walks through the apartment. His steps are shaky at first but slowly become his usual, angry strut through the living room and to the bedroom, kicking the door open without bothering to knock because this is his room too. Never mind that Matt is half-naked on the bed, only a sheet covering his body, eyes squeezed shut. Ignore the moan of complaint that comes from said boy as the light from the other room assaults his eyes.

"Melloooo…." Matt groans, eyes still shut, hands moving to cover them. Mello will have none of it, and immediately hops on the bed beside him, sitting on his feet, and pulls Matt's hands away. Forces Matt's struggling wrists down so that Matt will have to open his eyes, have to see. And slowly, Matt does, eyelids rising to reveal sleepy green eyes.

It takes a moment for Matt to comprehend, take Mello in with his eyes. He's disbelieving at first, Mello can see it in his face, the way his mouth hangs slightly open at the sight and his green eyes widen even wider than Mello's own. How he stares, speechless, at Mello's head and it's lack of hair there. Not in disgust nor horror, just… shock.

Before Matt can make any comment, Mello whispers, "Heh. Surprised?" His voice is so quiet that Matt could have very well not heard, tone wavering from upset to bold even in its quietness.

His face has turned from simply stunned to disbelieving, but he doesn't answer the question, if he even heard it. "Did you… did you really…?" he inquires. Mello doesn't bother to reply, since it's rather obvious that, yes, he did really as Matt sits up and slowly brushes his hands across Mello's head, feeling the fuzzy buzz-cut that tickles his fingertips. Finds himself tracing the outline of the scar automatically, down the side of his head where he'd never quite met it before, down the side of his face until it had ended to rest on Mello's cheek. He can feel it burning, though behind the scar he can't see it, Mello is blushing.

"You shaved your head," Matt whispers a bit dumbly. In another life, Mello might have slapped him over the head for stating the obvious so blatantly. But this is now, this is where things are too serious to shatter, and the newly-shaved blonde lowers his head to rest on Matt's shoulder, hand reaching forward to clutch at Matt's shoulder, never minding the blood that smears on his skin in the process. Not quite holding, not quite being held.

Finally, Mello finds the will to voice his question again.

"Do you still love me?" His voice sounds as if it should be gentle, but instead comes out rough and commanding. Almost frightened, in the backdrop, but said fright is smothered by the demanding tone of the question. Matt sucks in a breath, and Mello knows he's putting two and two together. Slowly, the thoughts register in Matt's mind, his slightly dull, sleepy eyes becoming warm and bright again, if only for a moment.

Mello can't tell if the warmth stays, no matter how much he wishes he could just keep eye contact, he was entranced more by another desire when Matt closed in on him, closing his lips over the blonde's with just enough force so that the blonde couldn't get away while still keeping the kiss gentle and careful. The kiss, in result, left Mello breathless until Matt finally paused the kiss to breathe, giving the blonde a chance to jerk away, face burning with blush.

Matt looked at him with a puzzled expression, surprised at the kiss's sudden end until Mello breathed, voice desperate, what he really wanted. "Get the chemo. I'll be here for you. Forever."

Matt had to fight back the tears as he nodded, closing in on Mello and returning to the helpless, breathless kissing of those facing death. To those of the desperate lovers still clinging to that hope. That hope that would give them the love and energy to let them maybe, just maybe, make it through this. Hairless, helpless, and hopeful, they just might make it through.

If there was ever a day he would be better, it would be a Good Day indeed.


End file.
